Pictures Of Us
by madeleine68
Summary: Sequel to "Pictures Of You." A/O together forever! THE FINAL CHAPTER IS UP! Please review!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, nothing's mine, blah blah blah, Dick Wolf's, blah blah blah.**

**I decided to write a sequel to my other story, **_**Pictures Of You**_**, since you all liked it so much. This one's from Olivia's point of view and starts where the last one left off. I know you've seen the second one before, but I decided to include it anyway. Enjoy!**

I fall asleep that night, that horrible night after I saw my Alex get shot, with Angel in my arms. I miss my girlfriend so much, more than I've ever missed anything or anyone in my entire life. I can't imagine how I'll survive without her. I've never imagined life without her; I always thought we would be forever. But my Alex is dead. And there isn't anything I can do to bring her back.

I hug my teddy to my chest and bury my head in hers. I'm sure I won't be able to sleep tonight, and I don't want to – I don't want to wake up screaming with nightmares, of Alex getting shot and me unable to stop it. I press Angel's stomach, needing the comfort right now, but I've forgotten – her battery's dead. Alex said she would fix it for me, but she never actually got around to it.

It's going to be a long night.

* * *

"So, what have we got?" I ask Elliot, getting out of my car in East Harlem and jogging toward him.

"Jane Doe, no ID on her. Early to mid thirties, maybe 5'8", 5'9". Blonde, blue eyes. We'll run her through the database."

My breath hitches for a moment and my heart skips a beat. But then I calm myself down. _It isn't her, it can't be her. They would have relocated her farther away than East Harlem._

But I have to be sure. Pushing past Elliot, I take a long look at the battered body of a young woman. She bears some resemblance, but she isn't who I'm looking for.

_Thank God. _My knees give way and I try to steady myself, letting out a long sigh of relief. _It's not her. Thank you, thank you, thank you._

* * *

_She's falling, a bullet in her shoulder, her mouth open in a silent scream as she hits the ground. I run to her, kneeling down and trying to staunch the blood flow. "Hold on, baby. Hold on . . . stay with me . . . don't leave me . . . Alex, honey, stay with me! You're going to be okay, baby, you're going to be fine."_

_But when I look back at the ground, it's not Alex I'm resuscitating. It's my mother. And then, I'm not sure if I want to._

I wake up screaming for Alex. I reach beside me for the comfort that usually awaits me, but she's not there. Instead, I hug a pillow to my chest and pretend it's her.

* * *

I'm cleaning our apartment that weekend. I can't bear to get rid of anything of Alex's, even though they told me she wasn't coming back. I don't want to believe it. I can't.

I'm vacuuming behind the living room couch when I come upon a pair of black-framed glasses. Those sexy, gorgeous glasses of my girlfriend's. She lost them last month and had to buy a new pair, and now, I'm almost glad.

I put the glasses on, even though they blur my vision. They still smell like Alex, and I know that's the closest I'm going to get to her for a long time.

* * *

I can't bear to change the message on our answering machine. Every time I call our apartment, there's Alex's sweet voice on the other end, and for just a few minutes, I can pretend she's still here with me. Sometimes I call over and over again, just to hear her voice. That beautiful voice that I miss so much.

**Should I continue with this? Review if you want more!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for all your reviews! So, I decided to continue. Enjoy.**

She's walking toward us, looking as nonchalant as if she hadn't been out of their lives for the last year and a half. I almost faint at the sight of her, terrified that it's just another dream or that she's a ghost and I'm going crazy. She looks so much like an angel, even more so than before. I'm drowning in those bottomless blue eyes. "Alex," is all I manage to choke out. "You didn't have to come back." God, that's the wrong thing to say.

"I know," she says, in true Alex Cabot fashion. "But who else is going to get you out of trouble?"

* * *

The first thing she asks me when we get off work is if I still have her car. "Is that really the thing that was foremost in your mind while you were in Witness Protection?" I ask disapprovingly, rolling my eyes.

She shrugs, pushing her glasses up her nose. "That thing is beautiful. You remember."

"It's in the garage," I reply, shaking my head.

"Do you still sleep with that dumb teddy?"

I pretend to be insulted. "Her name is _Angel_ and the answer is yes. She's not as comfy as you are, though."

She crooks her finger at me. "Tonight, that thing goes on the dresser and your arms go around me."

"Or else?"

"Or else I sleep on the couch and Angel can have my pillow."

Well, there's no contest there. I would throw out that teddy bear if it meant Alex would stay with me for just one night.

* * *

We're in bed the night before the trial, holding each other and praying that we won't wake up in the morning and find this has all just been a beautiful dream. "Don't leave me," I murmur through my grogginess, kissing Alex's hair. I can't sleep, although I'm exhausted. I don't want to miss a moment with my beautiful Alex.

She doesn't answer. Maybe it's because she's asleep, or maybe it's because she doesn't want to make a promise she's not sure she can keep.

* * *

They tell me she's gone again, and it's all I can do not to crumble to the ground. I'm terrified that I'll never see her again, and that seems increasingly likely.

I can't stay for the rest of the party. I stumble home with the overwhelming urge to drink myself into oblivion, but somehow, I hold back. I want to remember Alex. Not forget her.

I pull out our scrapbook, the one she gave me a few months ago. There are pictures of us, at her parent's beach house, with the guys at work, with Abbie or Serena. So many pictures of us. They're all I have left.

* * *

_I am running, a million miles an hour, but it's still not fast enough and I can't catch up to her. Every step I take, she fades a little further._

If only they'd let me go with her.

**Review for more oneshots in chapter three!**


	3. Chapter 3

I'm driving out to a crime scene in the middle of the night, listening to the radio. A song comes on, _I Wanna Love You Forever_ by Jessica Simpson.

_I wanna love you forever  
And this is all I'm asking of you  
10 000 lifetimes together  
Is that so much for you to do?  
Cause from the moment that I saw your face  
And felt the fire in your sweet embrace  
I swear I knew  
I'm gonna love you forever_

Before I know it, tears are streaking down my cheeks and I have to change the station. That's the first song Alex and I ever danced to.

_Oh, Alex. I do love you forever, and I always will._

* * *

She's standing in the distance, throwing her head back and laughing at something Abbie said. Abbie's on one side and Serena's on the other, holding her hands. Her baby blues are shining with mirth.

"Alex!" I run to her as fast as my feet can carry me, but it's too little, too late, and by the time I get there, she's gone.

And then I wake up, sobbing for my lost love.

* * *

I go to the optometrist and he tells me I need glasses. I pick out a black pair with square frames, just like Alex's. We'll be twins when she gets back.

_If _she gets back.

I get to work on Monday and the captain tells me that glasses aren't a good idea because a perp could easily pull them off and disorient me. He makes me get contacts and I leave the glasses on my beside table, waiting for Alex, for her return.

* * *

"You need to stop focusing on her," Serena tells me. "I know it's hard, Olivia, and I know you love her. But she's not coming back and you need to let go."

But that's the problem. I love her, and that makes everything else impossible.

* * *

"Alex!" I practically gasp when I see her.

I haven't seen her in years, and suddenly she's appeared out of nowhere, back into my life. And I can't even say I'm upset. She's been out of Witness Protection for two years and I've called her so many times, but she's never called me back. I understand – she's ashamed, I suppose. She doesn't like being seen in a vulnerable position. But still – we were in _love_. Well, I still am with her. Whether she is with me remains to be seen.

But she's just as nonchalant as ever, striding toward me, her silky blonde tresses bouncing like she's in a Pantene commercial, those bottomless blue eyes framed by black squares, twinkling like the deep blue sea. "What have we got?"

_Us_, I don't say.

**Review if you want more oneshots in the next chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

We're in bed together that night and she's wrapped in my arms, and it feels so good, but I know it won't last. And as much as it will hurt both of us, I have to distance myself if we aren't going to be able to be together. "Alex," I tell her. "You can't keep doing this to me."

She rolls over to meet my eyes. "What?"

"You can't keep playing games. You can't leave me, then come back, then leave again, then return. You can't go years without acknowledging my existence and then expect things to go back to normal. You can't break my heart, then fix it, then break it all over again without even a goodbye."

She stares at me. "That wasn't my fault!"

"Part of it was, Alex. I called you when you got out of Witness Protection. I called you over and over and over and you didn't answer. I thought you hated me. But I missed you. I cried for you every night."

She lowers her eyes. "So do you want me to go?"

_No, I don't. _"I love you, Alex. I want you to stay."

She snuggles close to me again and lets out a sigh of relief. "Then I will."

* * *

"What would you do if you won the lottery?" I ask Alex. We're sitting on the couch watching a movie and the question has just occurred to me, in the way random questions sometimes do.

She groans and I smirk, because I know she hates it when I do this, but she can never resist giving me an answer. "Can I press pause while I think about it?"

I debate whether the answer to the question is actually important enough to warrant pausing our movie. Finally, I nod.

She smiles, pauses the movie, and considers my question. "Mm, I would take you to Italy. For three weeks."

I roll my eyes. "That would take care of a few thousand."

"A few tens of thousands, maybe more. Italy's expensive. Wait, how much money do I win?"

Okay, this is too complicated. I didn't really want to know the answer that badly. "Forget it. Press play."

* * *

Now it's her turn for nightmares. I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled whimpers, and when I roll over I can see that Alex is crying. Softly, hoping I won't hear, but crying all the same.

I don't ask her if she's okay, because I know she's not. Instead I move closer and wrap my arms around her, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of her head.

Even though neither of us says anything, I can tell that our closeness helps. She starts to relax in my embrace and her sobs gradually subside. I kiss her again and gently rub her back until she falls asleep again, just as she used to do for me.

* * *

She comes out of the bedroom looking gorgeous. Not that she doesn't look gorgeous every day, but tonight, she's absolutely breathtaking. Her hair is almost but not quite curly and she's wearing a red dress that shows off her figure. She's not wearing a lot of makeup, drawing more attention to those bottomless blue eyes I love so much.

She catches me staring and smiles a bit. "What?"

"Nothing." I hold out my arms and when she walks into them, I hug her tightly and murmur, "You're beautiful."

She looks up at me and smiles, and I think it she must have the most beautiful smile in the entire world. "So are you."

* * *

"I know you're paranoid from your time in Witness Protection, but not everyone in the world is out to get you!" I scream at her, and then a moment too late I realize what a horrible, unforgivable thing I've just said.

"Fuck you," she hisses, and I just stand there for a moment, stunned. Even though I know I deserve it, Alex has never, ever sworn at me before!

And then she crumbles, and it's too late for me to catch her. She's on the ground, heaving dry sobs that rack her frail body as she wraps her arms around herself and buries her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry," she whimpers, trembling from head to toe. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

What can I do? I kneel down beside her, wrap my arms around my Alex, and rock her gently in my arms. She goes limp in my embrace and I kiss her hair, whispering, "I know, baby. I know."

**Review for chapter five!**


	5. Chapter 5

I drag Alex to church on Sunday. Even though she doesn't really want to come, she does it anyway, because she understands that it's important for me. While she was "dead," I guess maybe I rediscovered my faith. I'd toyed with the idea of God and things you can't see but you know are there anyway since I was a child, and went through a period encompassing several decades in which I flat-out rejected any form of organized religion whatsoever. But then I learned that you don't need organized religion to believe, and I wanted desperately to believe.

Alex gets dressed up, not in a dress, but in a nice skirt and blouse. I only actually own one skirt, so I pull on a pair of dress pants, but that's sufficient.

She sits beside me in a pew four rows back, and she seems surprised that I know every prayer by heart. But she doesn't say a word to me about it.

Afterward, we take a cab out for lunch. We go to a quaint Italian café that she's always loved, and she gets her usual, fettuccine alfredo. She's not really one for variety.

"So this is where we spend Sunday mornings from now on?" she asks.

I nod, and she shrugs.

"Okay."

And that's that.

* * *

We watch television before bed now, because Alex can never fall asleep when it's completely silent. "Wisconsin was so quiet," she explains to me. "It was eerie. And it scared me. I always kept the television on, otherwise I couldn't sleep." She looks apologetic. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, baby," I assure her. "If it makes you comfortable, it's fine."

"It's a phase," she says. "It'll pass."

But I'm not sure if she's trying to convince me or herself.

* * *

There's a scar on her shoulder, the shape and size of a coin, the one she got when one of Velez's henchmen shot her. She's self-conscious about it, which is why she refuses to wear sleeveless shirts or halter tops. But I make sure it's the last thing I kiss every night and the first thing I kiss every morning. It helps, a little. I hope.

* * *

We're searching in our closet for dresses to wear to Abbie's fortieth birthday party. "She said dressy casual," Alex says, wringing her hands. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

I would laugh if she wasn't dead serious. "It means not jeans and a t-shirt but not an evening gown either."

"Oh, well, _that's _helpful," she says sarcastically.

"Nice shirt, nice pants or skirt," I translate.

She wrings her hands again. "What constitutes _nice_?"

I rummage around in the closet and come up with a blue long-sleeved shirt. "You could wear this with those black pants."

She shakes her head. "What are you going to wear?"

"My red sweater and brown dress pants."

"They don't match," she informs me.

"Okay, what should I wear?"

"I don't know! If I knew, I would know what I was going to wear."

"Whatever. I'm wearing my red sweater and brown dress pants."

She sighs and flops down on the bed. "I'm never going to find anything to wear!"

I sit down beside her and lean in for a kiss. "Don't worry," I tell her. "You're beautiful no matter what you wear."

* * *

She's curled up in a ball on the bed when I get out of the shower. I walk around to her side of the bed and kneel down beside her, but she's not crying, just staring, not at me but past me. Her eyes are clouded over and I know she's not really seeing anything at all.

I catch her eye and ask gently, "Are you okay, baby?"

She doesn't answer. She's not hearing me; she's a million miles away and I need to reach her and bring her back to me.

"Can I give you a hug?" It occurs to me that I shouldn't really have to ask, but I push the thought away. This is what she used to do for me when I had a nightmare, a flashback, or even just a bad day.

She inclines her head slightly, and I think that's a good thing, because it means she's at least _listening _to what I'm saying.

I climb onto the bed and wrap my arms around Alex, pulling her close and kissing the back of her neck. "What is it, princess? Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Velez." It's so quiet that it's barely audible, but the fear in her voice is unmistakable.

"He's dead, Alex."

"I know."

I recall a similar conversation from months – _years _– ago, when I said the same thing to her. But I suppose her fears are more realistic than mine. My skeleton in the closet has been dead for twenty years. Hers could easily reappear at any moment. And that's what makes it so hard.

"I'm here, baby. Always. They can't hurt you now."

She looks up at me through wide blue eyes. "What if they come back?"

I kiss her hair and say the only thing I can say, and after the words are out there, I realize that they're true. "Then I would come with you, wherever you go."

**Review for chapter six!**


	6. Chapter 6

It's snowing when we leave the restaurant, and Alex doesn't have her gloves. I notice that her hands are shaking as she raises an arm to hail a cab, but of course this is New York City, and there are no cabs.

I take her hands in mine. They're icy cold, and she stares at me for a moment, but then I smile and slide my own gloves onto her hands. And then she smiles back.

* * *

We're out shopping, and Alex is tired today, so when we go into the grocery store, I rip the list she made in half and we each take a piece. "Meet you at the front in ten," I tell her, and she nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I see her smile when she notices that I have a few more items on my list than she does on hers.

"Race you," she says with a smile, and I grin back.

"You're on."

As I pass the dessert section, the flower kiosk catches my eye. I debate for a moment; is it really worth losing the contest? I decide that yes, it is, and I pick out a dozen red roses.

Alex is already in the line when I get there. "I won!" she crows.

"That's because I gave you the smaller list," I reply good-naturedly. My competitive nature won't allow for anything else.

She shrugs. "I still beat you."

"Ah, well. I have your trophy." With a shy smile, I hand her the flowers.

She kisses my cheek, and then she laughs. "I must be really special, then, because you forfeited this competition to get me flowers."

_Oh, Alex, _I don't say. _You are_.

* * *

I have a spare moment at work and I check my answering machine. Ugh, six new messages. Three from Elliot, one from a rape victim who decided she didn't want to testify – Olivia had dealt with that awhile ago – and one from her bank, telling her that she needed to upgrade her account or something.

The last message is from Alex, left twenty minutes ago. "Hey, baby. I just wanted to say I love you, just in case I don't say it often enough. See you after work."

An automated voice comes over the phone. "Press seven to erase. Press nine to save."

Olivia smiles to herself. She presses nine.

* * *

We're eating dinner and sharing a bottle of wine, a pinot noir that Alex's mother sent us when she was in France. Alex looks up at me, smiles, and clinks her glass against mine before taking a sip.

I cock my head for a moment before doing the same. I wonder briefly what we're toasting, then I figure we don't need a reason.

* * *

"Just leave then!" she screeches, and even though I know she doesn't mean it, it stops me in my tracks.

But I'm angry. So angry that I pull on a pair of jeans and hiss, "Fine," before doing just that. I know I would never – _could _never – leave her, and I think that somewhere deep down, she knows it too, which is why she says things like this. But a part of me wants to make her feel awful – want to make her feel _scared _– today. So I leave.

She maintains that stony façade until I slam the door, and I stop for a moment, and I listen. I feel a perverse sense of satisfaction at the ensuing whimpers, and I think that if I wasn't so angry, I would go back and comfort her.

I jog around Central Park before I realize how cruel I've been, torturing my Alex. Sure, she started it. Sure, she was wrong. Sure, we both said some things we didn't mean. But I love her. And I shouldn't be doing this.

I turn around and decide to pick up flowers before I go home. White roses. The flowers of love and the color of surrender. A peace offering.

She's lying on the couch, remnants of her tears staining her cheeks. Her smile is a precious gem, and she takes the flowers before saying, almost shyly, "You came back."

I pull her into my arms and plant a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. "Don't I always?"

**Review for chapter seven!**


	7. Chapter 7

It's been a horrible day, of rapists and monsters I couldn't catch, and I know that I won't be able to sleep tonight.

I get home exhausted, and Alex is waiting for me. She pokes her head out of the kitchen, and she's wearing my old apron, her hair pulled up into a messy bun, her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. God, she's gorgeous even when she's trying to look casual.

Alex kisses me, passionate and calming at the same time, and then she pulls away and smiles shyly, wiping her hands with a paper towel. "Dinner in ten?" I nod, answering silently because I can't push the words past my lips, and she cocks her head in concern. "How was your day?"

I sigh and kiss her again, melting as I feel her tongue in my mouth, and she's just an extension of me now, and I of her. "Better now."

* * *

While Alex was in Witness Protection, I got into the habit of jogging in the mornings. It helped me, to wake up and have something to look to, instead of worrying about what I'd lost, or specifically, who wasn't there beside me. We're in the middle of a tough case and on Tuesday, I wake up at five in the morning, my legs just aching for the friction that running creates.

I place a gentle kiss on Alex's forehead before carefully extricating myself from her embrace. I climb out of bed and throw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, then jot Alex a note and leave it on the kitchen table, so she won't worry if she wakes up and finds me gone.

The second I get outside, I start to run, my feet pounding the sidewalk as I lope toward the park. Ah, Central Park at five in the morning. It's beautiful. The mist is just settling over the trees and it's almost quiet, save for the pattering of sneakers on gravel and the barking of a few dogs as they jog alongside their owners.

Running gives me a surge of the adrenaline I crave, the adrenaline that pumps every time I slam handcuffs on a perp, every time my lips and Alex's form a bridge, irreversibly connecting us.

I check my watch. It's ten to seven, and I should probably be getting home soon. I turn around and jog back to my apartment.

I mount the stairs instead of taking the elevator, rejuvenated after my run, rather than exhausted. It feels good to be running again.

I unlock the door and go inside, and then I'm astonished to find Alex curled up on the living room couch, her head buried in her knees. Her shoulders are shaking and she's _crying_.

I go to her and wrap my arms around her. "Baby, what's wrong?"

She looks up, tears brimming in her baby blues. She tries to smile but it comes out as a grimace. "I thought – it doesn't matter."

I brush a few strands of stray blonde hair behind her ear. "What did you think?"

She lowers her eyes. "I thought you left me."

I'm momentarily stunned. "I would never leave you," I assure her, wondering where this is coming from. "Why would you think that?"

"I woke up and you were gone."

"I left you a note."

She unfolds her hand and shows me the crumpled piece of paper. In my half-asleep state, the only legible thing on the page was _I love you_. Nothing more.

"I'm sorry, Alex," I whisper, kissing her forehead. "I went out for a jog. I'm sorry if I scared you."

She nods, a bit sheepishly. "Yeah." It's all that's left to say

* * *

I've spent the last eight hours drifting in and out of consciousness, but Alex is always there when I wake up, smoothing my hair back from my clammy forehead, holding a bowl of broth to my lips and urging me to take a sip.

"How is it that you never get sick?" I ask, because I'm exhausted and I'm wondering, but she doesn't answer, and I wonder whether or not I even said the words aloud.

"Open up," she prompts, holding out the thermometer and sticking it in my mouth when I comply. Her hands are so gentle, working magic on my sweaty skin as she caresses my cheek. She kisses my forehead, then my neck, and I want to tell her to stop because I don't want her to get sick too, just in case, but I can't find the words.

* * *

We're at the park, our fingers intertwined, when a clap of thunder screams from the sky and suddenly, buckets of rain pour down on the two of us.

Alex pouts as the water soaks her hair, turning light blonde tresses a deep gold, and her shirt clings to her like a second skin. God, I just want to kiss her, but getting out of the rain comes first. "The weather guy said it was going to be sunny. All day."

"Well, that should be clue number one to expect rain," I tell her, laughing as we run toward the nearest restaurant, darting inside for cover.

* * *

Sometimes Alex is so beautiful that it physically hurts to look at her. When we're lying in bed at night, and she's curled up on her side, her head resting on her hands, her blonde hair splayed out on her pillow, she looks so innocent. Like a child.

Like an angel.

**Review for chapter eight!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Warning: Here there be smut. If it's not your thing, skip that part. Reader discretion is advised.**

I get home from work emotionally drained, and she asks me if I'm okay. I hate it when she does that, even though I'm well aware of my own hypocrisy – I ask her that same question at least ten times a day, usually more.

I manage a wan smile and say, "Fine," but neither one of us is fooled.

* * *

Every morning that I wake up beside Alex, I treasure the moment. I feel blessed every single time, because I've learned the hard way how special every second we spent together is, how this can be stolen away in the blink of an eye.

I love to watch her sleep. I love to watch her when she's awake. I love to listen to her even breathing and I love to listen to her sharp wit, her fifty-cent vocabulary of legalese.

Who am I kidding? I love everything about her.

* * *

Alex brings home a painting when she gets home from a shopping trip with Abbie. Her face is flushed with something that vaguely resembles happiness. Only vaguely because I know I wouldn't recognize true happiness if it walked up to me and introduced itself – except when I'm with her. When I'm with her, I don't even have to think about it, because I'm always happy, and that's all there is to it.

She holds up the painting. "Do you like it?"

I don't, actually. It's full of colors I hate and they all swirl together to make a – a mess is really the best word to describe it. But I force myself to nod anyway.

And her smile makes the lie worth it.

* * *

I'm teasing her with two fingers, circling the spot where she wants me most. Her hips buck and she cries, "Liv! Please! Oh, God, please, please, I need you, please!"

Her begging leaves me almost speechless from arousal, but I know she likes it just as much when I play. "Hmm, no." And I pull my hand away.

"Liv!" she wails. "Please, please, please!" She bucks her hips again, trying desperately to garner more contact, but I clasp my hands behind my back so she can't brush against them.

"No," I repeat, grinning like a cat.

"Objection!"

That stops me for a moment and it's so adorable that I can't help but chuckle. "Did you just say _objection_?"

She nods determinedly. "I object."

Okay, fine. I'll play along. "On what grounds?"

"Um, argumentative?"

It's a question, not a statement, and my smirk gets even wider. "Nice try. Try again, honey."

She moans as my fingers dance lightly over the hypersensitive bundle of nerves between her legs and I can see she's trying to come up with something fast. "Badgering!"

"Not quite." I squeeze, then pull my hand away.

She gasps, trying to push into me, but I'm having too much fun to give in so easily. I can see the wheels turning and she finally comes up with the right answer. "Unresponsive!"

I grin. "Good answer." And then I return to my ministrations, and she comes hard, screaming my name as she does.

I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

* * *

Alex is finishing up some paperwork, so I go to bed alone, but I can't sleep without her in my arms. I wait up for her, and sure enough, I'm rewarded when she climbs into bed a few hours later, fitting her body against mine.

I groan when her icy feet make contact with my legs. "Why are you always so cold?" I ask, half annoyed and half amused.

She shrugs, then flashes me her most winning smile, lying down on top of the sheets instead of underneath them. "Warm me up."

Heaving a dramatic sigh, I take her feet in my hands and start to gently rub them to warm them up. God, they're like icicles. "What did you _do_?"

She smiles and closes her eyes. "Thank you, Liv."

She falls asleep while I'm massaging her feet, and I think maybe that was all she wanted in the first place, because when I get up in the middle of the night for a drink of water, I notice the melted ice cubes on the kitchen counter.

**Review if you'd like the next chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

I love watching movies with Alex. Ninety relaxing, blissful moments spent together, with no interruptions. She'll rest her head in my lap and I'll stroke her hair, and we sit in silence for ninety whole minutes, Alex captivated with the movie and me captivated with her.

* * *

Alex worries about me almost constantly now. I know it's the aftermath of the Velez case and I know she can't help it, but it still physically hurts when I get home to find her watching the news, and there's a story on about a police officer who's been shot, and she's sitting on the couch, white as a ghost and trembling. The look of relief on her face when she sees that I'm there, that I'm safe, breaks my heart every time.

So I've learned. Whenever I catch the news or hear it on the police scanner before she does, I send her a quick text message, just to let her know I'm safe. And it helps.

* * *

I confess: I can never refuse Alex anything when she bats her eyelashes and gives me that winsome smile I love so much. I turn to mush and I do whatever she tells me, because it's just too cute. And of course, she knows that and uses it to her advantage.

"Liiiiiv, can you make me a cup of tea?" when she's curled up on the couch and too comfy to move, of course forgetting that I'm right beside her and I might not feel much like getting up either. But I do anyway.

"Liiiiiv, can you carry me?" when she's half-asleep after a movie and too tired to walk the fifteen feet from our living room to our bedroom. And she's not that heavy, so really it's not a problem.

"Liiiiiv, can you give me a massage? My shoulders hurt from lifting all those boxes of case files." Of course, I get home every day in pain from chasing (and restraining myself from beating the crap out of) uncooperative perps, but I do it for her anyway, because I love her.

And then, of course, there's this:

"Liiiiiv, is there any chance that breakfast could magically appear?" when she's sick and bedridden for the first time since I've known her. And she knows we have no food in the house.

So what can I do? Yes, it's seven in the morning, and yes, it's raining, and yes, I don't really feel like getting out of bed. But I can never say no to my Alex. So I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and jog down to the coffee shop across the street. I pick her up a bagful of croissants and make her a cup of tea, then go back into our bedroom and hand them to her. She smiles, and that makes the whole trek out in the rain worth it.

I lean down to kiss her cheek and murmur in her ear, "Abracadabra."

* * *

We're at Elliot's house again, spending the night with Dickie and Elizabeth, because Kathy and Elliot are spending the evening at a hotel, just the two of them. Even though the twins are thirteen, Elliot didn't feel comfortable leaving them by themselves, so we got elected as the babysitters.

Dickie is sitting at the kitchen table, struggling with his math homework. "Liv, what's the square of 21?"

_What the hell are they teaching eighth graders in school? _"Ugh, I don't know."

"It's 441," says Alex, coming up behind us.

I turn around to stare at her. "What?"

"I was part of the math club in high school," she says, a bit defensively.

I can't help but grin. "Wow. You were a _nerd_!" I say, relishing the word.

"A bit," she admits.

I lower my voice so Dickie can't hear. "And that is _so _sexy."

* * *

We're watching an old Carol Burnett comedy and sharing a bowl of popcorn, our fingers brushing as we reach in to take a handful. Carol Burnett says something funny and Alex throws her head back and laughs, a real one that I haven't heard in months. Then she smiles, and it lights up her face, and I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Subconsciously, I reach out to caress her cheek. "You have such a beautiful smile," I say softly. "Keep it there."

She melts, and all I want to do in this moment is kiss her. I lean forward and meld our lips, and when we break apart, she's still smiling.

**Review for chapter ten!**


	10. Chapter 10

_He's back, his hands all over my small body, touching, hurting, everywhere. "Please, no! Don't!" But it does no good. And I scream._

The first thing I see when I wake up is Alex's beautiful, bottomless blue eyes, wide with fear. She heaves an audible sigh of relief and wraps her arms around me when she sees that I'm awake. "It's okay," she whispers, softly caressing my cheek. When she pulls her hand away, it's sticky with tears.

I touch my cheeks and realize in surprise that I've been crying.

* * *

We're lying in bed together and another one of those random questions pops into my head. "Alex," I say in a whisper that connotes urgency. "Are you awake?"

"Mm," she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. "I am now. What is it?"

"What was the scariest thing you've ever done?"

"Ugh." She groans. "Um, talking to Petrovsky after I had you guys execute that illegal search of Sam Cavanaugh's apartment. I was terrified she was going to throw out the tapes, even though by the letter of the law, I knew she wouldn't be able to. I was scared it would have all been for nothing."

I smile and kiss her hair. "How noble."

"Mm," she agrees. "What was the scariest thing you've ever done?"

I don't even have to think about it. "Asking you out."

* * *

Being undercover is especially painful now. I try to refuse as much of it as I can, but sometimes, I just don't have a choice.

Tonight, I lie down in an apartment thirty miles away and close my eyes, trying not to think about Alex, trying not to wonder what she's doing right now, trying not to feel guilty about leaving her. Trying not to worry.

* * *

We're getting renovations done at our apartment today – the kitchen floor needs to be retiled and the bathroom needs to be repainted. I have to work, but Alex says she doesn't trust those renovators one bit, so she convinced me to persuade Donnelly to give her the day off. (As if I'm any less intimidated by Donnelly than she is.)

I get home exhausted, around 10:00. The renovators are gone and the work is done, which is nice, and Alex waited for me to have dinner, which is even nicer.

We eat and then we go to bed. But in the dim light illuminating the bedroom, I can tell that something seems off. I just can't put my finger on what it is. And then it occurs to me. "Alex – why are the bedroom walls _purple_?"

"It's lilac," she tells me seriously.

"Same thing!"

"No, it's a particular shade of purple."

"Fine, then. Why are the bedroom walls _lilac_?"

She shrugs. "It's my favorite color. Don't you like it?"

"I thought your favorite color was turquoise."

"It was, but then I discovered lilac."

"When?"

"Today. Don't you like it?"

No, actually, I don't. I really don't. I will not be able to sleep in a lilac bedroom. But it's Alex's favorite color. "Won't you get tired of it?"

She shrugs again. "No."

I kiss her forehead. "It's fine. I like it."

Her smile makes me think that maybe I do like the color after all.

* * *

When I was a teenager, I was reluctant to try drugs, alcohol, smoking, or anything that might be potentially addicting. I recognized my addictive personality for what it was and decided that addiction was a bad thing.

Now, I've decided to rethink my stance on addiction. I have to, because I am undeniably addicted to Alex Cabot.

**Review if you'd like chapter eleven!**


	11. Chapter 11

There are some things that Alex could just never get used to, and being the diplomatic person that I am, I've learned to pick my battles. And I know that fighting one of those breathtaking smiles that lights up my whole world is futile anyway, so maybe it's more about saving face.

I used to drink Coke, but ever since we got together, the fridge in our apartment is filled with Pepsi. I used to drink whiskey, but she hates the smell, and God help me if she ever finds a bottle in the house.

I've boxed up all my DVDs . . . and my CDs . . . and really everything on our living room shelf to make room for a dictionary, an encyclopedia, a thesaurus, several law journals, and books so thick that I wonder how she can get through them without the reading spilling into the next century.

I buy orange juice every week, Tropicana, with no pulp. I make her a shopping list every Monday because I don't think she trusts me to buy anything more than a carton of milk or orange juice from the local convenience store. I pick up white roses for her every week because she loves them, even though I've really never seen the point of buying something that only lasts a few days.

Anything for Alex.

* * *

I wake up one Sunday morning around eleven, which is kind of nice. Usually I don't sleep this late, but it's kind of refreshing.

Alex is already up, and I pad into the kitchen to find her reading yesterday's newspaper and scowling. Her scowl – like everything else about her – is so adorable that I have to laugh. "Hey, baby," I say, kissing her cheek. "What's the matter?"

She glares at me. "Would it really kill you to fold up the newspaper when you're done with it?"

I shrug. "Probably not."

"Then why don't you do it?"

I can't keep the smirk off my face when I reply, "Because I love to see that adorable scowl on your face, trying not to go off on me, and folding the paper so meticulously like it's the most important task on Earth, even though we both know that it's going in the recycling bin when you're done with it."

* * *

"Alex," I whine. "Come to bed."

"Shh," snaps Alex, not even looking up from her paperwork. "I'm busy."

"I can't sleep without you," I complain, jutting out my lower lip, trying unsuccessfully to look cute.

"Sleep with that stupid teddy bear you're so fond of," she mutters unsympathetically.

"You're comfier," I protest.

"I'll make you a deal," she offers.

That peaks my interest. "What kind of deal?"

"Throw the teddy in the garbage and I'll come to bed right now."

I chew my bottom lip, considering. "_Alex_," I grumble. "What kind of deal is that?"

She shrugs. "The kind that gets me into your pants."

The nonchalance with which she says that almost makes me fall over, and my panties immediately start to moisten. Ah, who cares about a stuffed animal? I want Alex tonight. "Okay," I agree.

Her head snaps up. "_What_?"

"I said okay."

She raises her eyebrows. "Wow. I didn't mean that. I was bluffing."

I pout. "Well, that's how much you mean to me."

She grins and takes my arm. "The paperwork can wait. Let's go to bed."

* * *

Alex gets home from work one day, pouting adorably as she comes into the family room and perches on my lap.

I can't help but laugh at the look on her face and stroke her hair. "What's the matter?"

"Apparently I'm an uptight, self-righteous bitch."

I shake my head in amusement. "Who said that?"

"Opposing counsel."

"Ah, well. You're _my _uptight, self-righteous bitch."

She scowls at me and gets up off my lap. "_Fine_. Be that way."

She's so cute when she speaks like a fifth-grader. "Hey, I was just messing with you." I pat the space beside me. "You're a relaxed, easygoing, positive person who deals with conflict calmly and maturely."

She smirks. "Thank you, but I think the other one is a better description."

* * *

"Alex," I say when I get home from work one day to find a traffic ticket laid out on the table like a gift. "What's that?"

She shrugs, giving me her most innocent, "who, me?" expression. "I was coming to get you at lunch," she explains. "I missed you so I ended up maybe going a few miles over the speed limit." She gives me her sweetest smile. "But you can take care of it, right?"

"Or else . . .?"

She pouts. "Or else you're sleeping on the couch."

Well, that lights a fire under me. "I'll make a phone call."

**Review for chapter twelve!**


	12. Chapter 12

When I'm out at a crime scene, sometimes I think of Alex. In all of this blood and pain and misery, it helps to know that there's still some good in this world. I think of her waiting up for me, keeping my dinner warm, or reading a book until three in the morning just so she can be awake when I get back. I think of what she's wearing and I smile when I think that in a few hours, it's not going to matter, because I'm going to take it off.

Thinking of Alex can get me through anything.

* * *

We're in bed together on a Sunday morning, my arms wrapped tightly around her. I brush my lips across Alex's forehead and when her eyes flutter open, I murmur, "I spy with my little eye something that is gorgeous."

She rolls her eyes. "Remind me why we're playing I Spy at 9:00 on a Sunday morning."

"Guess," I encourage, kissing her cheek.

She sighs. "It's too early for this. Do you want to just tell me?"

I grin at her. "You."

* * *

"I think we need some time away from each other," says Alex after one particularly vicious screaming match, which she won, of course. I'll bet she could argue circles around me even when she's drunk, which never actually happens, but still.

"Fine," I snap. "Feel free to leave at any time."

With one last defiant glance over her shoulder, she grabs her coat and storms out the door.

And when she's gone, I crumble, because for some reason, this feels like forever. I collapse on the couch, but I'm too worn out even to cry.

I wake up the next morning and she's not there beside me, and that's when I realize what a mistake this all was. She's not in the kitchen, reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of tea. She's not in the shower and she won't come out in a moment and curl up beside me, soaking me with her wet hair, murmuring, "Warm me up." She's not here.

But when I get to work, she is there, and she's more than happy to run into my arms, and when she's secure in my embrace, we both burst into tears.

* * *

I get home from work to find a big bowl of spaghetti waiting for me on the kitchen table. Alex is perched on the couch, reading a book, and she looks up and smiles when she sees me. "Are you hungry?"

I nod. "Famished."

She grins. "Great."

I sit at the table and she sits down beside me and twirls a strand of my spaghetti on her fork. I stare at her. "I take it we're sharing?"

She nods, smirking. "We should put on _Bella Notte_."

I have to laugh. "Aw, that's nice. You're the lady and I'm the tramp."

"Mm." She laughs too. "I used to love that movie."

"Hey, I _still _love that movie."

"We should watch it after dinner."

And when we're done with the spaghetti, we curl up on the couch and watch the movie, snuggled up so tightly that it's almost as if we're one body instead of two.

I love it.

* * *

"There is absolutely no way I can convince Petrovsky – or any other judge – to sign this warrant," insists Alex, a fire igniting in her baby blues.

She doesn't realize that I've given this argument up approximately twenty minutes ago. I just like to watch her fight like this, even though it's a bit one-sided. She's gorgeous when she's standing with her arms folded, her eyes boring holes into my soul as she argues. It's _so _sexy. "Mm."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Liv, I mean it. You need to go find me some more evidence."

"Mm hm," I agree. I'm too busy staring at her to even comprehend what she's saying.

"Close your mouth," she snaps, but there's a touch of amusement evident in her tone, and that's when I realize my mouth is hanging wide open.

I shake it off. "Alex."

She looks downright exasperated. "_What_?"

I pull her close. "Shut up and kiss me."

**Review for chapter thirteen!**


	13. Chapter 13

I'm in the hospital again, from a bullet wound that just grazed my shoulder. It's painful, but not unbearably so. It's more an inconvenience than anything.

Elliot's with me, sitting on a chair beside my bed when I wake up. I should be glad that he's here, but instead I ask, "Did you call Alex?"

He rolls his eyes. "She was across town. She'll be here in ten."

I smile sweetly. "Thank you."

A few moments later, the door flies open and Alex is standing there, relief written all over her face. Elliot leaves, giving us a few moments alone, and the second he's gone she runs to me and wraps her arms around me, leaning in for a kiss. Once she's sure that I'm all right, she steps back and folds her arms, glaring at me. "Your reflexes are getting rusty, Liv. You're supposed to shoot _first_."

I close my eyes. "I _tried_." It sounds a bit too plaintive for my liking, but it's true.

"You have no business on the street if you can't –"

"Alex. I'm fine. Honestly, you're mad at me for getting shot? You should be mad at that bastard who shot me!" I know she's only upset because she cares about me, but I can't help but feel indignant.

She lies down beside me on the bed, taking me into her arms. "I'm sorry, Liv. But for every bullet that grazes you, it fully pierces me."

* * *

"Do you ever think about kids?" I ask Alex out of the blue.

She raises her eyebrows. "What about them?"

I shrug. "Having them."

She's thinking about it, and finally she shrugs too. "I don't know."

"Alex Cabot doesn't know something? That's a first."

She rolls her eyes. "Ask me in a year . . . or two."

* * *

We order Chinese for dinner because both of us are too lazy to cook anything. It arrives quickly and I dish some noodles onto two plates and hand Alex a pair of chopsticks. She stares at me like I'm crazy and goes to get herself a fork.

I roll my eyes. "You have to eat noodles with chopsticks, Alex. That's just the way it's done."

She folds her arms. "It's not the way it's done for me."

"Wow, okay. I'll show you."

She glares at me. "No."

"Look, I know you're adverse to learning new things, but this is the right way to do it."

She sticks out her lower lip. "I lack hand eye coordination."

I take a few minutes trying to show her anyway, but she's incorrigible. I get the feeling that it's not that she can't use them; it's just that she doesn't want to. "Okay, fine, use the stupid fork."

She glares at me for one more moment, then picks up the chopsticks and expertly finishes off her noodles, looking so smug that I have to laugh.

* * *

I've always been afraid of drowning. I know it's stupid for Olivia Benson, who has looked death in the eye so many times, to be afraid of such a thing, but I am. It's not really a debilitating fear when you get right down to it; it's merely psychological. I'll still go swimming, but I'll be vigilant, and I'll be careful.

Some fears come from the unknown, but this one comes from something I know well, too well. When I was three or four years old, we had a pool in our backyard and my mother (who was probably more than a little drunk) was playing with me in the water. She would throw me up in the air and then catch me, and I would laugh and laugh. Which was all fine, until she didn't catch me one time, and I started to sink. I knew how to swim, but I panicked anyway, and I almost drowned.

Sometimes I have nightmares about drowning, but I wake up to find Alex beside me, and I think I couldn't dream of a better life preserver.

* * *

I wake up around three in the morning, and even though I'm half asleep, there's one thing on my mind: food. I'm hungry.

I carefully get out of bed so as not to wake Alex and take out a plate. I put a croissant on the plate and rummage around for some saran wrap. I wrap up the croissant and put it in the microwave, pressing _start_.

I go into the washroom to wash my face before I have my mid-night snack, and that's when I hear it. It sounds a bit like a dog being electrocuted and I run into the kitchen, wondering what the hell I did wrong.

To my horror, I find the microwave turning different colors. Pink, then blue, then orange – flashing – and I realize that the microwave's on fire! How the hell did that happen? For a moment, I'm preoccupied with the microwave, because it looks like fireworks are exploding, and I didn't know that explosions actually turned colors. Then I snap out of it, too afraid to open the microwave door, and scream, "Alex!"

She comes running, materializing by my side a moment later. "What the hell, Liv!" She opens the microwave and throws baking soda on the fire. It's out within seconds. She takes a wad of paper towel and picks up the charred croissant. "What on Earth possessed you to wrap your croissant in _tinfoil_?"

**Review for chapter fourteen!**


	14. Chapter 14

"Melinda's having a costume party for Halloween," I inform Alex.

She rolls her eyes. "Didn't we grow out of that in third grade?"

I shrug. "Maybe _you _did."

"Okay, fine. What am I supposed to be?"

I grin. "A hooker," I suggest.

She throws a pillow at me. "Try again."

I pout, easily deflecting the pillow. "What were you when you were a kid?"

"A princess," she replies, as if this is obvious.

I should have known. "Every year?"

She nods.

"Okay. Be a mummy."

She wrinkles her nose. "Why?"

I shrug. "Okay. Be a ninja."

She sighs. "What are you going to be?"

"Why don't you be Olivia for Halloween and I'll be Alex?" I suggest.

"We really _did _grow out of that in third grade."

I glare at her. "I'm all out of ideas."

She glares back. "You be a cop and I'll be your prisoner."

She says it so seriously that I double over laughing. "Now _there's _an idea!"

* * *

Alex is doing some paperwork and I'm waiting patiently, my hands folded primly in my lap. That should be the first sign that something's wrong. I'm never patient.

She looks up at me, an expression of outright annoyance gracing her features. "What?"

I shrug, trying to suppress my grin. "Nothing. I'm just sitting here."

She eyes me suspiciously for another moment before going back to her paperwork.

I don't move.

She looks up again a moment later. "Could you stop that?"

"What am I doing?" I ask, feigning innocence. "I'm just sitting here."

"We've previously established that fact. Could you go sit somewhere else?"

I pretend to be hurt. "Is that really what you want?"

She sighs. "No, it's not." And then she relents, leaning forward to kiss me.

* * *

We're watching baseball, which Alex hates, but I make her watch it with me anyway. "This is boring," she gripes. "Can we do something else?"

"Shh," I tell her, not taking my eyes off the screen. "The inning's almost over."

She pouts. "Let's make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"If the Yankees lose, then no baseball for the rest of this . . . month. You can TiVo them and watch them sometime when I'm not here. And instead of watching baseball, we can actually _do _something."

I manage to tear my eyes away from the screen and raise my eyebrows. "Are you propositioning me, Counselor?"

She furrows her brow, then her mouth crinkles upward into a grin. "No, but that's not a bad idea, come to think of it."

"Right." I try not to laugh.

"What do you want if they win?" she asks seriously.

I consider. "A kiss."

She smirks. "Sure."

They lose, and I roll my eyes. "I didn't actually make that deal with you, you know. I just listened to your suggestion."

She grins. "Sore loser." She leans over to kiss me anyway. "Consolation prize."

* * *

"We need that warrant," I inform Alex.

"Well, you're not getting it," she snaps. "There's not enough evidence."

"Stop caring so much about solidifying your reputation!"

She looks down her nose at me. "That's not the right word."

"Whatever, Alex. We need it."

"You're not Olivia Benson, patron saint of victims everywhere!"

"And you're not Alex Cabot, patron saint of the dictionary!"

I can see that she's trying not to smile, trying to keep her self-righteous anger, but it's getting harder and harder. "What am I, then?"

"Alex Cabot, patron saint of sexiness."

"There is no patron saint of sexiness." There it is, a flash of her gorgeous smile.

I grin, pulling her shirt over her head and kissing a trail from her belly button up to her neck. "There is now."

* * *

She's pretending to be engrossed in a book, _pretending _being the operative word. I've been waiting for the past ten minutes for her to come to bed. "Alex," I whine, pulling on her arm. I've never been good at waiting.

She doesn't even look up from her book. "Shh. Let me finish my chapter."

"_Alex_."

"Go get in your pajamas," she orders, just like I'm a child, and I can't help but smile.

"I don't know the point of pajamas, considering they never last us through the night."

She turns a page in her book, pretending not to hear me.

"Alex!" I yell.

"Shh," she repeats.

I heave a dramatic sigh, then wrap my arms around her neck and lean forward, pressing my lips to hers. At first, there's annoyance in her eyes, but then she gives in to the sensation and relaxes, deepening the kiss.

When air becomes a necessity and we break apart, I take her hand and lead her to our bedroom. She follows without a word of complaint.

I win.

**Review for chapter fifteen!**


	15. Chapter 15

The temperature's dropped way below freezing, and it's kind of nice, actually. This is the first time I can ever remember this happening, and I know it won't last long, but Alex and I can have today together at least, at home, just the two of us.

I glance at the warm, sleeping body beside me and press a gentle kiss to Alex's forehead. I scribble her a note and leave it on my pillow – I've learned my lesson about that – and manage to jog the two blocks to William's, which is Alex's favorite place for hot chocolate. The wind stings my face and I'm walking directly into it, but I try not to care. The look on Alex's face will be worth it.

I order her a hot chocolate to go and run back to the apartment, as fast as I can without spilling the drink.

I make it back to the apartment and find Alex still asleep. I crumple the note up in my hands as an internal debate rages. I don't really want to wake her, but the hot chocolate will be cold chocolate in ten minutes if I don't, so I gently kiss her cheek and when she opens her eyes, I urge the cup of hot chocolate into her hands. "'Morning, princess."

She stares at it as if she's never seen hot chocolate before. "You went out in that snowstorm to get me hot chocolate?" she asks incredulously.

I nod.

"I could have made some."

"I know you like that vanilla stuff. From William's, with 1% milk instead of water and all those mini marshmallows."

The corners of her lips crinkle into a smile and she leans in to kiss me. "You love me, don't you?"

I grin. "I'm really hoping you didn't need hot chocolate to prove that."

* * *

She gets home from work and goes straight to the bedroom, slamming the door, and the message is clear: she wants to be alone.

She may want to be alone, but I know that what Alex wants and what Alex needs are two different animals, so I go in there anyway and take her into my arms. And to my surprise, she lets me.

* * *

Alex snuggles up to me, resting her head on my shoulder. "Today was a good day," she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.

"I never knew errands were so much fun," I joke, kissing the crown of her head.

"Mm." She shifts to get more comfortable. "Errands with you are . . ." Her voice trails off, and I know she's asleep, but I think I understand what she means.

_Any day spent with you, Alex, is a good day._

* * *

"Go to bed, Liv," says Alex with a sigh. "You're not helping me and the more you distract me, the longer this will take."

"Mm." I rest my head on her shoulder. "Why don't you take your own advice?"

Her interest seems to perk at that, and she asks in her most sultry, seductive tone, "Why?"

I sit back up. "What kind of question is that?"

Her grin is perfectly predatory. "Do you have something for me?"

I groan and nod eagerly. "Definitely."

She laughs. "Fine. This can wait."

* * *

I think it might be a good idea to make Alex breakfast today – after all, it is her birthday – but I've been banned from using both the stove and the microwave, for fear of setting the house on fire. I guess those fears aren't unfounded – Alex doesn't exactly make a lot of rules in our relationship, but she's made it very clear that I'm not allowed to touch those particular kitchen appliances unless she's there to supervise me.

So that means I can't make pancakes or French toast or eggs, so I'm resigned to making toast and orange juice. I don't really want to set anything on fire or explode anything, but what harm can a toaster do?

I put in two pieces of multigrain bread – Alex's new thing – and press the button.

Apparently I've pressed the wrong button because the thing starts to growl. Yes, _growl_. It's the sound that the printer at the precinct sometimes makes because it's so old. _Shit_. I must have done something wrong after all.

Gingerly, I advance toward the toaster and try to get close enough to unplug it, but then the room starts to fill with smoke and I groan. _Oh no, not again!_

Coughing, I try to clear the smoke from the room, but I'm fighting a losing battle.

A dry chuckle from behind me makes me jump. "So you win the fight against child molesters but you lose the fight against kitchen appliances?"

I smile sheepishly. "Happy birthday, love."

**Review for chapter sixteen!**


	16. Chapter 16

I'm in the kitchen, proud of myself that I've managed to make cookies with (so far) no problems. They're in the oven and things seem to be going well. Until Alex comes home.

The look on her face is one of abject horror, and I rush to defend myself. "Cookies, Alex. God, they're cookies! What could possibly go wrong?"

She shakes her head. "I've heard that one before."

"Well, nothing's exploded yet," I say firmly. "Nothing's on fire. Nothing's blown up. I think we're okay."

She still looks a bit unsettled, but sits down and waits for the timer to go off. When it does, she pushes me away from the oven and takes the cookies out herself. They don't look as good as I thought they would . . .

Alex raises an eyebrow and picks one up, examining it carefully. "Olivia! What did you _do_ to these cookies?"

I fold my arms. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I followed the recipe. So sue whoever wrote the book."

She snatches up the recipe and says accusingly, "Where did you find the baking powder? We don't have any in the house. Did you buy some more?"

_Oh. _"Um, it's not the same thing as baking soda?"

* * *

"Today is the day we are going to clean out our storage room," Alex announces grimly on Saturday.

"Count me out," I tell her.

She grabs my arm. "I count you _in_."

I groan. "I am _not _spending my Saturday cleaning a storage room that hasn't been touched in years."

"All the more reason to clean it."

I fold my arms. "Give me a better reason."

She raises a suggestive eyebrow. "The faster we finish, the faster we can get on to . . . _other _things."

I play it cool, even though I'm definitely not going to pass this opportunity up now. "What kind of _other _things?"

She laughs. "That's not how it works, Detective. You take the deal now or it's gone."

I quirk an eyebrow. "When was the last time you made a deal without knowing all the strings attached?"

I see the wheels turning in her head. _Score one for you, Liv._ And then she lowers her voice seductively. "I'll make you scream my name in ecstasy."

I laugh. "Works for me."

* * *

"I'm going to be late!" snaps Alex. "Drive faster. Petrovksy's going to hold me in contempt!"

I'm driving her to work and it's true, we are late, but there's really nothing I can do. "Alex," I growl, trying to keep my temper under control. "There are five inches of snow on the ground. I'm going as fast as I can without getting us into an accident, in which case you won't even _get _to court!"

She scowls. "Next time, we'll get right out of bed instead of . . . um . . . fooling around."

I can't help but smile. "But isn't 'fooling around' so much more fun?"

* * *

I get home from work exhausted, emotionally drained. Alex is waiting for me on the couch, and she takes me into her arms and holds me close, kissing the base of my neck. I rest my head on her shoulder and sigh.

"You can't let it get to you like this," Alex chastises gently. "They'll break your heart."

We've had this discussion before, many times. Every time I wake up with a bad dream, with the faces of murdered children and battered women floating in front of my eyes. Every time I can't have sex because all I can think of is today's victims. Every time I come home with tears in my eyes because there was another child I couldn't help. "I know," I say, with little conviction.

She just holds me, and for now, it's enough.

* * *

When I get home from work one day, I find Alex waiting for me with the most radiant smile on her face. It's been a long day, but seeing her makes everything better. I pull her close and kiss her cheek. "What are you so happy about?"

She grins at me. "I'm pregnant."

**Review for chapter seventeen!**


	17. Chapter 17

I wake up in the morning to find that she's vomiting again. It's just one of those things about pregnancy, apparently.

I go to her and hold her hair back from her face. She shoots me a grateful look before leaning over and throwing up once more.

Finally, there's nothing left in her stomach and she stands up, a bit shakily, relief evident on her face. She smiles ruefully. "Well, that was fun."

I laugh. "I'm sure it was." I run a hand through her silky blonde tresses. "Don't worry, babe. In six months it will be worth it."

She leans toward me, melding our lips in a passionate kiss. "I know."

* * *

We're going through a book on baby names, and coming to a decision isn't going to be easy.

"What about Gabriel for a boy?" Alex suggests, flipping through the book. "In the bible, Gabriel is an angel."

I roll my eyes. "Spoken like a true parochial schoolgirl."

"Hey!" She pretends to be offended. "It's in the book. Besides, it's a nice name."

I consider. "Well, angels are nice."

"Within the realm of the angelic, we could have Angela for a girl, or a variation. Angelina, Angelica, Angeline, Angelique . . ."

I heave a dramatic sigh. "You know, we should just name a girl Alexa Olive and a boy Alexander Oliver and be done with it."

* * *

Apparently, vomiting as much as Alex has been isn't good for the baby, and they need to give her an IV so the baby will have enough nutrients. She shrieks as they put it in, then bursts into tears. She's been especially hormonal now that she's pregnant, but her reaction worries me a little.

"I don't like needles!" she wails.

But then, I already knew that. "It's for the baby," I try to tell her.

"Screw the baby!" she snaps, and she starts to pick at the IV, and I'm scared she's going to rip it out of her arms, but then she looks up at me and sighs. "I'm sorry."

I pull her into my arms and kiss her forehead. "It's okay, princess. In a few months, we're going to have a child. And it'll be worth it then."

"_You _try being pregnant!"

"Mm." I kiss her cheek. "Maybe someday."

* * *

"Liv!"

She's getting out of the bath and I run to her, thinking she might have fallen or hurt herself or something.

But she's not hurt. She grins at me and says proudly, "I can't see my toes."

I roll my eyes. "I never thought I'd see the day."

* * *

Pregnancy is a strange thing. Alex wakes me up in the middle of the night and I worry for a moment that it's a nightmare, but no – she hasn't had a nightmare in months.

It isn't. "Liv," she whines. "Can you get me some pickles?"

I groan. "Alex, it's three in the morning. Get them yourself."

She gives me her best puppy eyes and I grudgingly go downstairs, open the fridge, and bring her up a jar of pickles.

The things I do for love.

**Review for the final chapter!**


	18. Chapter 18

**This is the last oneshot. Enjoy!**

Elliot snaps the picture, Alex, me and our new baby. Rhea Celine, after Alex's mother.

Our little girl is absolutely gorgeous. She's the spitting image of Alex, and I didn't know it was possible to love someone so much with all my heart. Then again, I feel the same way about Alex.

Now we have another picture to add to our collection. The first of many pictures of us.

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